Sigrid took a deep breath and drank in Vanadís’s power, so heady that it pulsed through the ground and made the sky tremble.
Loki hadn’t come to help the seeress when the blade severed her neck. Now she lay dead, her life wasted for something that had been lost for a long time, and she would spread her fear no longer.
“Did you mess up the first cut on purpose?” Sigrid asked Kolgrim, who was using the seeress’s cloak to wipe off his ax blade.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” the jarl said with a smile. “One blow is usually enough.”
“The one who hurt our noble Estrid deserved to suffer for days,” Hawk said, mounting his shaggy brown horse. “Maybe they hid her somewhere?”
Sigrid slowly shook her head, her heart breaking again.
People were fleeing up the steep mountainside in the hope of escaping the Scylfing swords, but Toste’s warriors waited at the top of the mountain and massacred them all. There was no way for the Anund clan to escape. One by one the damned were slaughtered.
“If Estrid were here, they would have used her to negotiate,” Sigrid said faintly.
Estrid was dead, unless she’d somehow managed to escape. Sigrid closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hopefully she had. Hopefully it had all been lies.
“We have Agnatyr!” warriors cried out down in the gully by a stream a little way from the farm. “We have their chieftain!”
Sigrid turned her horse and hurried over there.
The Anund clan chieftain was completely surrounded by Scylfings; still, he held his shield and ax up, ready to fight to the death.
Three of his men lay dead at his feet, and a wounded shield maiden with a spear in her hand stood by his side.
“Lower your weapons,” Sigrid ordered.
The warriors reluctantly lowered their axes and spears and moved out of Sigrid’s way as she rode forward. She stopped at a distance and peered down at the tattooed beast, who blinked at her as he panted for air, out of breath.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked, hatred coiling in her chest.
Agnatyr nodded, showing no fear.
“Where’s my daughter?”
The chieftain stood up straighter in defiance.
“I have nothing to gain from talking to you,” he replied.
“You could gain a chance to die with honor,” Sigrid said.
Agnatyr hesitated, but only briefly; then he nodded.
“I will tell you what I know if you let Turid go free.”
“No, I won’t leave you!” the shield maiden cried, shaking her head. “Let me die with you!”
“Turid, please. Get out of here, for my sake,” Agnatyr urged her, his eyes pleading, his hand on her arm.
Sigrid rolled her eyes. They were lovers—how touching. She sat on her horse and watched indifferently as the two desperately pleaded with each other.
“Where’s my daughter?” Sigrid repeated sharply.
“She’s dead,” Agnatyr said, lowering his worn shield.
Lies and more lies. Sigrid shouldn’t have expected otherwise from the chief of the Anund clan.
She turned to leave them to their death.
“He’s telling the truth!” the shield maiden called back, her voice shrill. Her face, surrounded by blond braids, was dirty, and her eyes were bright with the fear of death. “Your daughter is dead. The dogs tore her to shreds when she tried to escape.”
She looked pleadingly at Agnatyr until he nodded.
Then it was true. Sigrid tumbled into an abyss of grief and thirst for revenge. Everything was a gray fog of despair. They had stolen her baby girl and fed her to dogs. Never before had she felt such excruciating pain, and it took all her strength to sit up. A Scylfing didn’t show weakness. She had to prove her mettle and not give the Anund rabble the pleasure of seeing her heartbroken grief.
The Scylfings watched her in silence. Winded and sweaty, they were eager to avenge Estrid.
“What do you want us to do?” Toste asked. He had come over to her. He stroked her horse’s neck as a show of tenderness.
A short distance away Ragna’s house flared up and was consumed by fire. The Scylfings chased and caught two men who tried to escape from the valley, and their death cries soon echoed between the mountains.
“Finish it,” Agnatyr cried out from where he stood by his mistress’s side, his back still straight with defiance. “We all know your greedy hunger for lives, you Scylfing bitch. All you’ve ever wanted was to wipe us off the face of the earth.”
“Everything that happens in this valley is your fault,” Sigrid said, and moved her hand to the dagger in her belt. “I spared your people as a peace offering, but you repaid that by burning down two Scylfing farms and kidnapping my daughter. You’re a scoundrel who’s led his own people to ruin with wickedness and lies. You’ll be eternally damned.”
She enjoyed the pain in Agnatyr’s eyes before he averted his gaze and nodded, a broken man who knew his life was over and his reputation destroyed.
The shield maiden’s face was white as she stood beside her lover.
“Don’t kill your daughter’s husband,” she yelled. “She married Agnatyr before she fled. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
Sigrid flinched, as if she’d been kicked in the gut. Then it had just been a simple case of bride stealing. Agnatyr had defiled her daughter, and now, after all he’d done, after all the wickedness he’d caused, his mistress was pleading for Sigrid to grant him mercy? A red, bloodthirsty membrane covered the valley, and she heard the valkyries shrieking for revenge.
The battle-hardened Scylfings yelled out their rage, and Kolgrim grabbed the shield maiden by the hair and forced her to her knees.
“Let’s end them here and now!”
“They don’t deserve an easy death!” Sigrid bellowed.
The love Agnatyr and his trollop harbored for each other was strong, but it paled in comparison to Sigrid’s love for her daughter.
“Desecrate the shield maiden senseless for Agnatyr to watch. Let him watch her die before you behead him. That’s the revenge I demand for my daughter in the name of the family.”
Sigrid smiled joylessly as the men grabbed the shield maiden and ripped off her clothes before wrestling her to the ground. She screamed in desperation and tried in vain to break free of the men who raped her and beat her with closed fists.
A threefold curse on you, Sigrid thought as she watched Agnatyr stare at his beloved, crestfallen. You stole my daughter, forced her to become your wife, and then let her be torn to pieces by dogs. Now you know the fury of a mother’s vengeance.
“I want to watch him die,” she told her father, who still stood beside her steed, even though she could see that he desired to participate in the coupling.
“As you wish,” Toste said.
He petted her horse’s neck thoughtfully.
“It’s just as well that Estrid’s dead,” he said, and nodded toward Agnatyr. “The shame of her returning with his baby in her belly . . .”
Sigrid stared blankly at her father.
“If you had been man enough to defeat Anund’s clan, as you swore you would do, Estrid would be alive right now.”
Morosely she surveyed the burning houses in the valley, her blood seething with hatred.
Every member of this accursed clan had forfeited the right to live when they laid their hands on her little girl, and now they would all be consumed by the valkyries’ vengeance.
The shield maiden’s face was so beaten and swollen now that she no longer looked human as she attempted to crawl toward Agnatyr, whimpering and covered in blood.
He reached his hand out to her just as her skull was crushed with a rock. Lifeless, she collapsed, and the warriors backed away. More than twenty men had avenged Sigrid’s daughter, but that still didn’t alleviate her sorrow.
Toste walked over to Agnatyr. He yanked the chieftain’s head back and slit his throat.
Rattling and wheezing, the last chieftain of the Anund clan dep
arted this life.
Toste then decapitated Agnatyr and left his body on the frozen ground by the shield maiden’s.
It was done.
Sigrid nodded to the men, who adjusted their clothes and looked around for more enemies.
“I honor you for the vengeance you have provided,” Sigrid stated, and with those words she rode out of the valley.
Estrid was dead and avenged. Sigrid’s horse cantered over the wasteland as an icy wind howled through the valley. Everything was over, and Sigrid was forever shackled to her grief.
“I can’t believe a princess is serving me,” Vidya said with a smile, accepting the bowl of stew that Estrid offered her as she sat down on the bench by the hearth, her belly round with the child she was carrying and her cheeks rosy from the heat of the fire.
Mother Anna dished up another bowl from the iron cauldron.
“It’s a miracle of God that you’re alive, girl.”
“It truly is,” Vidya admitted. “My deepest thanks for all the nursing care you’ve provided me.”
Estrid smiled at the slave, who had been resurrected from the dead. The fever had raged in Vidya for so long, they had all thought she would die in the sleeping bench straw. Estrid had watched over her day and night, waiting for her to pass away, but Vidya had clung to life.
“I know how awful it is to be tormented by a fever,” Estrid said, and ate the stew made of turnips and beets. “Without Katla, I would never have made it through my illness.”
The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Vidya stiffened in fear and watched her uneasily while Mother Anna made the sign of the cross in front of her chest.
“You will bring the devil down on us with your talk of demons.”
Estrid looked down, embarrassed, and noticed her tattered shoes.
She knew it was wrong to speak of Katla, but the grief of losing her was still raw in her heart, and neither the white God’s power nor the baby growing in her belly could heal this loss. The dís of Hel had been her sister, protectress, and sweetheart, and no matter how much she loved the white God, she couldn’t forget Katla.
“I hope she didn’t suffer when she died,” Estrid said, and set her bowl down because she no longer felt like eating.
“Tell us about Katla,” Vidya said cautiously. “What did she look like?”
“Why do you ask what you already know?” Estrid replied sorrowfully, picturing Katla with her long curly blond hair and her lucid blue eyes teeming with unyielding strength. “My kinswoman was my fylgja, my guardian spirit. She was with me from the moment you first saw me. She never left my side.”
Mother Anna shook her head in warning, but Vidya moved closer to Estrid and reached over to hold her hand.
“You were alone when you came,” Vidya said.
Estrid swallowed. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”
“You were alone from the first moment I saw you,” said the liberated slave, squeezing her hand so tight, her fingers hurt. “The one you call Katla was never in this world. I swear it. It was your name for the demon you bore.”
“Why are you lying?” Estrid scoffed, pulling her hand away. “You’re still addled from the fever.”
Vidya shook her head, and her eyes were filled with tenderness and fear.
“The demon was so powerful that Ragna was powerless before it. I saw how it took over your body, and your face transformed into this dreadful creature and you spoke in an unfamiliar voice. It was awful to behold.”
“No!”
Estrid had seen Katla her whole life, talked with her, felt her body against her own. Vidya’s words couldn’t be right.
She moved away from Vidya because she couldn’t stand to be so close to a liar. Katla had been her constant companion since childhood. She had been her closest confidante, and everyone back home at the estate knew her. Or did they? Her memories from home were murky, like fever dreams, but she remembered her young cousins’ fear and the oppressive loneliness when people went out of their way to avoid her.
“The demon hasn’t possessed you a single time since God’s salvation. Your thoughts are clear and no longer clouded. You’re filled with joy and peace. Surely you can feel this?”
Estrid glowered into the flames as life force flowed through her body. Lies and trickery. Still, she couldn’t let on, or they would drive her away from their farm. She put her hand on her abdomen, where the blessed baby grew. If Katla was a demon she had been carrying, the white God had certainly possessed her in a very different way.
“A new era is dawning,” Mother Anna said, sitting down heavily on the bench beside her. “You need to let go of the past and embrace the favor God has granted you. The past doesn’t mean anything, just the future. You’ve been reborn, girl. Embrace life.”
Her eyes were full of tender kindness as she took Estrid’s hand.
Estrid forced herself to smile. Mother Anna was right. She had to stand strong if she was going to carry out the will of the white God. And she would never speak of Katla again or act as though she believed in demons, even though she knew they were real. Sometimes it was best to keep quiet.
In her dream Estrid wandered through the Anund clan’s valley, where burned-out houses stood out like sooty teeth against the sky. The ground was covered with the frostbitten corpses of the Anund clansmen, contorted and beaten, and she knew the Scylfings had taken their lives.
A little girl, the back of her head crushed, lay next to a warrior among the charred beams.
Ragna’s body lay tossed in front of the burned-down house, but her head was gone, chopped off and skewered on the end of a stake. The giantess who had spread so much fear was no more than a piece of meat on the frozen ground, a memory that had already slipped away into oblivion.
Estrid wandered farther, the dead trailing after her, trapped in the borderland between life and death.
Agnatyr lay by the creek, and Turid’s body was a short distance away, so bloody and mangled that it scarcely looked human. But Estrid hadn’t been brought here for them.
“Estrid,” said the voice she had longed for so ardently.
She turned and, trembling, looked at the being who came toward her, walking through the snowfall. Half of the face was burned away, and the yellow predator’s eyes twinkled under the curly blond hair. There was nothing human left about this being staring mercilessly at her. But Estrid still wasn’t afraid, just profoundly sad.
“Katla.”
The creature’s face contorted as she smiled with her charred lips.
“That’s one of the many names I’ve gone by,” the figure said, and her voice was an ice-cold wind that raced through the valley.
“You saved me,” Estrid said, awed.
Those yellow eyes twinkled coldly.
“When you were born, I swore an oath to protect you, and I died that same day in the flames at Fýrisvellir. My name was Emma then, and I was your mother’s half sister. You know all this.”
Estrid pressed her lips together and shook her head. Katla wasn’t a demon; she was a fylgja who protected her from all evil.
“I don’t know it,” Estrid whispered.
Dark mists wrapped around the creature as she grew enraged, and her voice made the heavens and the earth tremble.
“No more lies,” the creature roared. Just then the veil was ripped from Estrid’s eyes, and for the first time she could see clearly: the empty rooms where she had sat talking to herself, the looks from the others when she had laughed with her fylgja.
Tears poured down Estrid’s cheeks. It was true; Katla had never been real.
“It wasn’t a lie, because you were real to me. Why are you doing this to me? Why do you come to me now?”
“You know why.” Those yellow eyes penetrated Estrid like spears, all the way into her darkest secret.
“I can’t face this,” Estrid said, and began sobbing as the dirty secret started to break through the layers of lies. “Please, I beg you.”
Estrid hu
ddled up as brief glimpses flashed through her head like glowing-hot iron. Olaf’s drunken grin. His weight on her body. How she’d struggled in vain to get free. Screaming with pain, she embraced the unendurable pain of incest. She was carrying her brother’s baby. Her body was racked with sobs, and she curled up in disgust. Olaf, her own twin brother, had raped her. Crying, she had pleaded with him to stop as he held her wrists and forced himself between her legs.
“It’s a lie!” Estrid yelled. She stared down at her swelling belly in horror.
The demon showed her images to convince her that her own brother had violated her body. Estrid knew what had happened: the white God had given her a sacred baby when he saved her from evil.
“Get you gone, demon! Return to your underworld kingdom of liars! You can’t torment me anymore. God is protecting me!”
The creature hovered before her in a cold silence.
“As you wish,” she said, and those black charred lips twisted into a mocking sneer. “But your baby is mine.”
Estrid took a step backward and screamed with all her might.
“Begone, you abomination!”
A shout from the courtyard woke Estrid with a start. It was all a lie. Shame churned in her chest, and she could hardly breathe. Everything she’d done had been based on lying to herself. Pain trembled through her body. Filthy lies from her twisted mind had led her into the darkness.
“The valley’s on fire!” someone yelled.
Estrid sat up and looked at Vidya, who was awake in the bed. Without saying anything Estrid wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and walked out into the evening. Far away among the mountains in the distance a glow lit the evening sky. A few snowflakes fell on her face, and everything was the way she’d seen it in the dream.
Agnatyr lay dead by the creek, surrounded by his people. After two generations, the Anund clan had been wiped out down to the last child. The valley of the shadow of death was eternally obliterated, and Katla—with all her lies—had left her.
“They’re being punished for their wickedness and impiety, and now they’ll burn in hell,” Ragnar said with satisfaction as he came out of the house and somberly stared at the glow in the sky.
Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2) Page 38